


All this Climbing Makes Everyone Tired

by Rynfinity



Series: The March of the Damned [24]
Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Abusive Parents, Abusive Relationships, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Human, Hurt/Comfort, Light BDSM, Light Bondage, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Sibling Incest, Substance Abuse, Topping from the Bottom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-01
Updated: 2015-01-06
Packaged: 2018-03-04 15:48:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3073469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rynfinity/pseuds/Rynfinity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki sighs.  This is all giving him a headache, sweet treats notwithstanding.  Being a grown-up sucks sometimes.  Other times, it <i>really</i> sucks... he's not even sure why he finds the idea of being considered one flattering.</p><p> </p><p>This is a direct sequel to <i>Standing is Tricky when the Ground is Shaking</i> and will make the most sense read after its predecessors. </p><p>This story takes place in the same AU and timeframe as <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/2404418/chapters/5317307">Effort </a> from <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/series/104813">Out of the Mouths of Babes</a>; unlike the Babes stories, this one is told from Loki's point of view.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There's not enough room for all the doubt in the world.

He opens the door – quickly, which seems like it wouldn’t translate to quietly but always does somehow; the heavy thing is much more likely to squeak like crazy when one of them takes his time – at the first knock and huffs out a quiet burst of laughter. Sif is all bundled up and juggling two big to-go containers of- coffee, probably, plus a bag of something. “Um, come in?” He takes the bag and one of the coffees. “Thor’s napping,” he explains. “I think, back at lunchtime, I might have overstuffed him.”

“Perfect,” she exclaims. “I was going to ask you to stop over but now we can talk here.”

Loki’s heart sinks a little. He should have known… no one brings him treats without wanting something in return. Well, maybe _Thor_ does, but that’s different. Kind of. “Um,” he hesitates. “Um, sure. Come in. What’s up?” He really means _what did I do this time._ Saying it isn’t going to change anything, though. Not, at least, for the better.

“Here, can you take this for a second?” Sif holds out the remaining coffee. Loki looks frantically for a place to set the bag – they really need to clean up this dump, apparently – and settles for balancing it on his own furry-topped winter boots. “Sorry about that. I was about to drop it.” She shucks off her heavy mittens and then slips out of her coat. “Mmm. It’s so nice and warm in here.”

“Is it really that cold out?” Ugh, Loki is so not in the mood for small talk. He’s tired, too, and still kind of full from lunch himself. Just because he isn’t in there napping with his brother doesn’t mean he’s in top form at the moment. “It didn’t look it.” It hadn’t, not when he’d been watching it snow earlier. For winter it had looked warm, actually. Of course, he likes this weather better than does either Sif or Thor. The two of them are better suited for the sort of warm, sunny climate that leaves Loki himself wilting and sweaty.

He skates into the living room, scooting his wooly-sock-clad feet across the floor. Left. Right. Push. Glide. The coffees are a little too hot to hold for long, especially with cold, bare Loki-hands, so he sets them carefully on the low table and takes another lap around the furniture. And then another, as Sif plops the bag down nearby and cuddles into one end of the sofa with a soft sigh. And one more. Skating around the room is much nicer than talking… especially when Loki knows he’s in trouble and yet has no idea why.

Antsy. He’s antsy. In fuzzy socks. It’s so wrong.

“Come sit,” she suggests. When she pats the sofa next to herself, though, she gets Mac instead. “Hi, gorgeous,” she tells him, giving him a good chin-scritching and a much-less-welcome kiss right between his big pink-orange ears. “It’s always nice to see you. I was, however, talking to your dad.” Sif looks up as Loki whooshes by. “Seriously. Come sit. You’re making _me_ crazy.”

Loki frowns at her. He’s not in the right headspace for having fun poked at his _condition_. He does, however, stop circling the room. Instead, he slides his feet back and forth in place in a sloppy moonwalk. “If you want me to sit down,” he advises her, “you’re going to have to answer my question: what’s up,” he repeats, in case he’s the only one who hasn’t forgotten. “Come on,” he presses, moving his feet faster. “I’m not in the mood for games today.”

Sif sighs again. “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to play games either.” She picks up one of the coffees, pops the top, and takes a careful little sip. “I’m worried,” she says. “About Thor, mostly,” – and _that’s_ certainly novel – “but also about your ability to cope with all this. So, that’s what’s up. Now can you sit? I got you hot chocolate,” she adds, mock-seductively, “and some shortbread.”

Not coffee, then. Mmm. For hot chocolate, he will sit. He does. “Fair enough,” he tells her around an overly generous mouthful of rich, buttery shortbread. “I’m worried too.” But then he can’t resist the urge to smirk. And chew. And smirk again. “It’s not leaving him nearly enough time to fret over me.” He’s kidding. Mostly.

She doesn’t smile.

“I was _kidding_ ,” Loki tells her. “Really.”

It doesn’t help. In fact, if anything, his mouth – surprise, surprise – makes things that much worse. "Look,” she starts in, switching so effortlessly to _schoolmarm_ mode that his head spins; he almost has to hop back up and continue his earlier skating. “I know you're used to being the delicate flower here, but your brother is going through a lot right now. He needs our support. Yours most of all, Loki."

_Delicate flower._ He _hates_ that term. Just hates it. He lays his imaginary ears flat against his skull and hisses an imaginary hiss. "I've been _being_ supportive," he complains, because he’s doing so fucking much supporting that it’s grinding him into rubble. "I'm doing my best to take care of him. My best may not be all that great," he admits, hoping against hope she’ll jump in and correct him but knowing deep down it ain’t happening, "but it's going to have to suffice because it's what we have to work with."

Sif backs off a little. Her face softens. "I wasn't meaning to imply you haven’t been," she says, trying to appease him. "It's just that- well, I know Thor. _You_ know Thor.” He nods; he _does_ know his brother. All too well, sometimes. “Since you guys really started turning things around - before that, really, although it may have been a little harder to recognize then - he's been in caretaker mode.” She takes another sip of her coffee, then shrugs. “He doesn't always know how to ask for help, Loki. And this time of year is always hardest for him."

That? That’s a low fucking blow. It hits hard, dangerously so, down where all his _the world would be a better place without me_ shit hides out. "You don't think I know that," he asks her, trying to keep his voice even. "I only _live_ with the guy." _I only tried to kill myself and fucked everything up forever_.

"It's only recently you've gotten to a place where you can really step outside your own head and take a good look around," Sif reminds him. Which is quite a bit funnier than she probably means it to be; Loki has to quickly shift his efforts to not laughing. "I'd rather be safe than sorry, that's all."

He sighs. This is all giving him a headache, sweet treats notwithstanding. Being a grown-up sucks sometimes. Other times, it _really_ sucks. He’s not even sure why he finds the idea of being considered one flattering. "I know,” he says. “I'm just worried I won't be up to this." He laughs softly, because – even though he’s sitting down now – here they go ‘round again. "I guess what I need _you_ to do is tell me I will be."

_Ask for what you need_. A whole contingent of caregivers would be _so proud_.

“He's remembering all sorts of things," Loki goes on when it’s clear she isn’t going to answer, exactly. Instead she’d smiled a lopsided smile and nodded, which is nice enough but not really what he’d hoped for. "Good and bad, I guess,” he tells her, “but it seems like it's more of the latter. It started when we got Odin's _letter of atonement_ , if you will. At least, I think that's what happened. Before that, I don’t recall- well, Thor never mentioned anything like it. Except for nightmares about me dying."

"And?"

"In a way I like it," Loki confesses. He sinks down a little in his chair. "It's nice to reminisce. It’s even nicer not to feel so alone,” _and not to feel quite so freakish_.

"I can see that," Sif tells him. She doesn’t sound angry, even; only a little wary. "Just make sure you're looking out for someone besides Numero Uno, you know?"

_As if Thor isn’t the real Numero Uno in Loki World_. Hah. That actually _is_ funny.

His nod must be enough, which is fortunate considering he doesn’t dare say anything. "Is he talking to his therapist about what’s been going on," she asks instead of pressuring him further.

"I don't know," Thor ( _Thor!_ ) says loudly from across the room. Sif lets out a little shriek and all of them – Loki, Sif, cats – jump almost comically. "Why don't you _ask_ him?”

_Fuck_.

The last thing they need right now is a stupid fight. Loki takes a rare trip on the high road: “I'm sorry," he offers, just as soon as he can breathe again.

"It's okay," Thor tells him, equally quickly. So quickly, in fact, that Loki knows his brother is lying. "I'm not mad."

Yeah, okay, _that_ proves it.

Loki makes a face. "Really,” _as in bullshit, darling_.

Thor laughs quietly, or at least what counts for quietly when you’re Thor. "Oh, okay, maybe I am... a little. But I'll get over it." Loki shrugs as his brother looks back and forth between them. "It's not like Siffy and I haven't done the exact same thing more than a few times when it's come to you."

That’s true enough, he knows. Loki nods. "And we'd do the same if it was her," he says, gesturing towards Sif, "except for how she never fucking needs anything."

Everyone laughs. Life hurts, but they’ll get by. "Don't get me wrong," Thor says, to the room in general. "I do appreciate you looking out for me. I just- I dunno. It's awkward."

"Life is awkward," Loki agrees, laughing sadly. "Trust me, I would know."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If it looks like a duck, and sounds like a duck, and smells like a duck...
> 
> In which I had a day off, and Loki does a lot of thinking, so you get a loooong chapter. :)
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> _Warning - I don't think this is as surprising here as it was in Babes, but Loki makes some really poor choices in this chapter. Understandable, probably, and he turns it around in the end... but poor just the same. Trigger warning for mild suicidal ideation, problem drinking, non-compliance, and brief mention of offscreen animal death._

Loki hesitates for a moment - just a moment; this is big, and he can afford himself that much time to think before acting - with his hand poised over the open toilet. The pills (half of one, all of the other... he's done his research and knows he can't go cold turkey on his antipsychotic without risking permanent damage) look tiny and defenseless nestled in his cupped palm. Harmless, even. But he knows better.

_You've done this before_ , the angel perched on his right shoulder reminds him, _and just look at how that turned out_. 

Loki frowns. "That was different," he whispers almost silently. Thor is in the other room and, while his brother is probably still sleeping, this is by no means a spectator sport. It was different, though. He was homeless then; using, turning tricks, starved and beaten. "If I feel weird tomorrow," he promises the angel, "I will just go back to taking them."

The devil lounging on his left shoulder, legs splayed and one dark hand scratching its hairy balls enthusiastically, laughs. _You won't feel weird_ , it promises him. _You'll feel normal_.

Right, then. Loki tips his hand and watches the pills tumble into the water. He flushes before they even hit bottom.

~

It's the perfect week for this, after all.

Thor - having dived into _coping appropriately_ with the same single-minded focus that earns him boundless praise (and yet always gets _Loki_ in trouble) - is so busy getting his head shrunk that he'd barely notice if Loki waltzed through the kitchen wearing stripper heels with nothing at all.

Yes, that one he's actually tested. Talk about fucking depressing.

Dr. Riley is speaking at a conference, thereby obviating any obligation he might otherwise have felt to discuss the whole thing with her. They’ve spoken before about a medication-free trial, now that he is so far along with his other treatment modalities. _I can see the appeal_ , she'd assured him, and he'd known right then he was screwed, _but I think you’re one of those people who will always need the support of a good medication regimen. It's nothing to be ashamed of_ , she'd gone on when he'd been unable to blank his expression in time. _It's just biology_.

_Biochemistry_ , he'd corrected, and they'd both laughed.

Even though he'd actually felt a whole lot more like crying.

~

In the pottery room Loki sees it - a flash of something big and threatening on the very edge of his peripheral vision.

It turns out to just be Tyr, restocking glazes. Relief pours through him, so powerful it's nearly orgasmic. _This_. This is what he's been missing. What he's been _craving_. Loki forces himself back to his work; he can't afford to let Tyr catch on. He can’t go back to the dull monotony of everyday living. Um. Won’t, rather.

~

On Day 2 he doesn't hesitate: a pill and a half into the toilet, flushed promptly. Done and done.

~

Group gets a little heated, but that's not _Loki’s_ fault. It's not weird that he cries at the shelter, either, given that one of the cats had died earlier that day. She had failed to come out of anesthesia after her spay, hours past what's normal, and Keisha had ultimately given the vet clearance to euthanize her.

It's _not_ weird. It isn't. Everyone is crying. Keisha offers Loki a glass of water and he takes it gratefully; unlike at the center, he can be certain here that no one is trying to drug him. It's not the kind of thing that would ever be on their radar. “She didn’t suffer,” Keisha assures him. “Not for an instant. It’s okay, honey.”

~

On the way home Loki feels heavy. Too heavy to sit quietly in the big town car – Thor’d had a meeting late this afternoon, all the way across town, so they'd agreed a few days ago to go with the car service - without doing something stupidly obvious. In a rare stroke of luck, though, he knows the driver; when he smiles his most normal smile (the dark of a winter evening hides all but the worst of his blotchy, tear-stained face) and asks to be let out at the market, the guy is more than happy to oblige him.

Outside in the snow, he's still heavy. Grief is a lead weight, draped over him like a hooded blanket and pulling him down. Loki sinks to his knees and then flops onto his back, legs every which way.

When a child points, he covers himself quickly by making the perfect snow angel. A few people smile. He smiles back. He's _fine_.

~

He's damp and a little stinky when he finally gets home; his coat smells like wet sheep. Even his hair is wet, between his cap and his scarf (which dumps actual snow on the floor as he unwinds it).

Thor is on the phone, talking to his therapist from the sound of it. He looks up with a smile, like everything is normal. Loki tiptoes hastily back into the front hall with a big wad of paper towels and blots up the worst of the evidence.

Since it looks like he’s going to have to wait before dinner, he draws himself a hot bath. Thor doesn't bother him for once, which is surprisingly disappointing. Then again, it's what he'd _asked_ for. Maybe his brother had actually listened, this once. It figures.

Loki soaks in the steaming water, trying to let his mind idle. It won’t. He panics briefly when he realizes he’d been so busy fucking around that he’d completely forgotten to pick up dinner... and then just as quickly remembers he'd, uh, _taken the car_. While his heart is still racing from that little episode, he thinks about how much faster he would probably bleed out this way.

It's okay to think about it. He doesn't _do_ things like that anymore.

~

The third day, Loki flushes both whole pills. He drinks his usual glass of water and leaves it in the usual place on the counter, surrounded by a sloppy ring of water, so his brother can (rest assured he took his pills, and) nag about putting one’s things in the dishwasher.

"I was going to use it again," he protests, just like always.

"You never do," Thor reminds him, also just like always. It's a one-act play. Their own little ritual.

"Of course not," Loki fires back. "You always stick it in the dishwasher before I even can." He rests his hands on his hips and tries not to pant.

"Are you okay?" Thor studies him closely. Loki fights hard not to recoil. "You look tired."

Thank fucking baby jesus. "It's these extra shelter shifts," he lies, smoothly. "It’s been stressful, and I'm not used to being out so often."

His brother's worried expression softens. "Don't overdo it, baby," he says, reaching up and gently stroking Loki's hair. "We don't want you getting sick or anything."

_WE don't want you getting well, either_ , he thinks, _do we, brother?_

~

Day 4 – at least Loki thinks it’s the fourth day, although he could be losing track; in some ways he feels sharper than usual, but in other ways he feels kind of _addled_ \- brings another snowstorm. The car service calls to warn that they’ll be late… they’re predicting late enough, ostensibly, that Thor volunteers to drop him off on the way to work.

When Loki disagrees, saying (truthfully) it’s ridiculous for him to drive that far out of his way for no reason, Thor announces he’ll wait for the car to arrive then. He digs out his laptop, spreads his work papers all over the table, and gets down to it.

Awesome. It’s so nice not to be trusted. Not.

Loki doesn’t flush the pills at home this time. It’s too risky, what with Thor up and about like a good little snoop. He fakes taking them in the kitchen, like always, but palms them into his pocket instead.

His initial plan is to flush them in one of the center bathrooms. The closer his car gets to the place, though, the worse his idea seems. Loki has never been 100% sure the bathrooms there aren’t monitored, for starters. Even if they aren’t, he will be questioned if he seems to be acting suspicious. No, it’s better not to-.

“Everything okay,” the driver asks, catching his eye in the mirror. “You seem extra-jumpy this morning.”

“Sorry,” Loki tells him, smiling sweetly. “I’m just stressing over being late.”

The driver laughs. “Look at all this shit,” he says, meaning the snow. “I’m sure you won’t be the only one.”

Loki makes himself sit good and still. When he gets out, he stops by the municipal trashcan outside the shelter and makes a big show of blowing and wiping his nose. He drops the used tissue in the garbage afterwards, pills and all.

~

It’s mid-morning when he learns that Dr. Riley is back in the office today. “We’ve set you up with her at 4:00,” one of the girls at the desk says, her face squinched up in sympathy. “I know you don’t like meeting with her right at the end of the day” – he doesn’t; he hates going straight to the shelter, or home, feeling all torn apart and put back together cockeyed – “but it was all she had available.”

_Think, think_. Loki knows he’s not ready to deal with her. “I have art at that time, don’t I,” he asks, trying to keep his tone normal. Conversational. “I’m pretty sure I do.”

“We switched that to 3:00,” the girl says, her round face looking a little happier now that she’s got good news to share. “It’s fine.”

~

It’s not fine. By lunchtime Loki already knows he can’t meet with Dr. Riley. Not today. She can read his fucking mind… he will be in there all of 30 seconds before she catches on to him. And then she will have him put away, and all of this will have been for nothing.

Everyone will be so disappointed. He will have failed them. No, he will have _proved them right_ ; this is what they expect. It’s what they’ve always expected. _You’re weak_ , he reminds himself, _and a failure. Pretend all you want, but it’s not like anyone doesn’t know_.

~

He fakes his way through DBT. One of the coaches almost catches him doodling small copulating demons on his notes (just to stay focused, honest!) but he’s able to cover the page in time. Loki spends the rest of the lecture turning them into a stone wall, each stone so heavily inked that his pen tears through the paper and ruins the sheet below.

~

The staff entrance is _right there_. There’s bound to be a camera, if not a silent alarm, but he just can’t make himself care. He has to get out of here. At least once he’s out on the streets he’s free.

Loki darts out the door and runs for it. He’s about two blocks away when it hits him; escaping without his coat, mittens, scarf and boots into the slushy aftermath of this morning’s storm is probably not among his smarter maneuvers. Oh well. Too late now; it’s not like he can go _back there_. He shoves his freezing hands deep into the pockets of his too-tight jeans and keeps moving.

~

It’s warm inside the bar, so warm he feels like his face and hands are burning. The place is pretty dead – just a few regulars, old men and tradespeople, hunched silently over their drinks – and if the bartender thinks it’s weird that he’s run in all flushed and coatless she wisely says nothing. Well, nothing beyond “what can I get you?”

_Hot chocolate_ , he thinks. “A Long Island iced tea,” he tells her instead, sliding his (Thor’s) credit card across the bar, “and start me a tab, please.”

The amber liquid burns his throat, so he drinks it faster. Before long, he’s numb.

Two down and he’s feeling pretty fucking good about himself. A few women come in fresh from shopping, packages in hand, and cluster around one of the high-tops by the windows. One of them smiles at him. He smiles back; the woman blushes. “You’ve still got it,” he tells himself, not realizing until someone down the bar giggles that he’s actually spoken aloud. He shoots the laughing patron a toothy grin.

As she sets the third glass in front of him and watches him take a hurried gulp, the bartender makes a face. “Slow down there, cowboy,” she warns him, “or I’m going to have to cut you off.”

Loki takes another hefty swallow. Thor would burp, but _he’s_ not that crass. Or something. Whatever. “I’m fine,” he tells her, assuring himself he’s not starting to slur. He knocks back the rest of his drink and stands. The room sways ominously. “Save my seat,” he tells- everyone, clinging to the chair back with both hands. “I need to use the bathroom.”

~

He thinks he does use it. When he tries to wash his hands afterwards, Loki finds himself forced to let go of too many surfaces at once; he almost falls. _I could really use a hit about now_ , he thinks, and then makes accidental eye contact with himself in the dirty mirror.

“You need help,” he lectures himself mock-sternly, shaking a finger, and then he does topple over.

The floor is hard. And filthy. Having to crawl to the sink and pull himself up shocks a little reality back into him; when he catches sight of himself this time, disheveled and dirt-smeared, Loki can’t help but cry.

~

“Hey, buddy, everything okay,” the bartender asks him as he wobbles back to his chair. “What happened?”

He shakes his spinning head. “I need to leave,” he tells her. He wipes his eyes and nose with a napkin. “Now.”

She frowns. “Can you call someone?”

Loki reaches for his phone. _Fuck_. “I left my phone in my coat,” he tells her, which is kind of true. _Fuck fuck_. “Cash me out,” he suggests, “and I’ll just go.”

“Oh no,” she says as she passes over his card and check. “I’ll call for you. Give me the number.”

He roots obligingly through his wallet. He’s all thumbs. Thor? No. Dr. Riley? Fuck, no. In the end he very slowly and carefully reads her the number of the coaches’ line; he doesn’t let her actually see the card, because he may not have much left but he still has his pride.

“Oh man, I fucked up good this time,” he says into the phone. There’s no point in candy-coating it; Loki knows he’s so hosed he may never recover. His stomach rolls unpleasantly.

The guy on the other end of the line is talking, but he can’t make any sense of it. “Here,” Loki says, shoving the phone clumsily back at the bartender with something that’s probably too close to desperation. “Tell this jerk-off where I am.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of lovely medical ick, for those of you who are into that sort of thing. :)
> 
> Or: what goes down, must come up.

"Get off me! Take this shit off me! I'll fucking ki- oww!" Someone leans on Loki's wrist with enough weight to force his hand open and the plastic tray he's been brandishing clatters to the floor. He bursts into big, dramatic crocodile tears. "Don't hurt me!"

"No one wants to hurt you, sir," one of the guards - the big one, the one trying to snap his fucking hand off - tells him. That’s highly doubtful. The guy sounds a little winded, too; good. "But we do need you to calm down."

Loki snaps at the closest set of fingers and gets himself shoved back against the thin mattress. "Stop trying to cram that thing in me," he sob-shrieks, and by now he knows he's making a total ass of himself but it doesn't matter; he can't seem to quit it. "Just- just s-stop," he blubbers, thrashing back and forth. "Stoppppp!"

"Can you listen to me for a moment, Loki," the nurse - good-looking, rugged guy; Loki knows he'd tap that in a heartbeat if he wasn't Thor's plaything - asks him quietly.

"For you, darling, anything," Loki coos. His nose is running down his face; he can feel it. He tries to wipe it on his shoulder and clonks his head on something, which sends him right back to tears. Real tears, this time.

"You've done this before," the guy tells him, and Loki’s not sure what exactly that means. "And you know how it works: I need to get _this_ in you, and then _this_ ," he explains - _oh, lovely_ \- as he waves first the roll of tubing and then the squeeze bottle in front of Loki. "And it can be as easy or as miserable as you make it."

"Noooooooooooooo," Loki howls.

"Christ, can't we just sedate his whiny ass," someone asks from behind him.

The nurse shakes his head. "We don't know what he's got onboard."

"NOTHING," Loki yells, _again_. "I'm not a fucking druggie. Not this week," he adds when he realizes how stupid that sounds. And then he burps and tastes sour, boozy grossness. "Gonna hurl," he has barely time to warn before he, well, does. _Everyfuckingwhere_. And then again. And again, until his whole body is one big spasm.

"Fuuuuuck," he groans. He tries to spit on the floor and spits on his own arm instead. Oh, fuck it all. He gives up and collapses in a limp heap amongst the soggy bedding. It would be funny, the way everyone is standing _way far away_ now, except he has puke up his nose and he _hurts_ and he may have pissed himself. Ugh.

"The sooner we get this over with-," the nurse starts to remind him, but Loki really doesn't need to hear it.

"Fine," he echoes in a throaty rasp he barely recognizes. "Just get it over with."

Loki tries to watch as the guy smears lube - from one of those handy little single-use foil packs he's always tempted to steal - on the tubing but can’t; just looking at the thing leaves him dangerously close to gagging. Awesome. At this rate he's going to turn himself inside fucking out if he isn't careful.

One of them - the tech, maybe - wipes his face a quite a bit too roughly with a scratchy little towel. Amongst themselves they adjust the bed. "Ready," the nurse asks, like he has a choice. Loki nods.

"Tip your head up," the guy instructs, guiding Loki's chin surprisingly gently with a warm, gloved hand. "There you go." The tube scrapes a little inside his nose. Oww. He flinches, hard. "Swallow," the nurse reminds him. "Swallow. Perfect. There you go… keep swallowing."

Loki shudders. He hates this part. _Hates_ it.

"You're doing good," the tech compliments him softly. He can feel the tears squeezing out from under his scrunched-shut eyelids and burning their way down his filthy face.

~

"Okay, we're halfway home," the nurse tells - okay, no, _reminds_ again, maybe - Loki after what feels like an eternity spent listening to the slurpy hum of the suction unit. "Everything looks pretty clean."

_Duh. What do they think he is; a liar?_ Hah. Hardy fucking har har har.

"Hey, can you do this part yourself," the nurse interrupts his pity party eventually, picking the bottle of charcoal back up (and wiping it on the puke-stained towel; it was clearly in the line of fire earlier, along with half of the room) and then waggling it back and forth, "or do I need to put it down the tube for you?"

"Noooooo," Loki bellows again, because- no. Just no.

"Fucking nutjob," one of the guards, not the big one this time, grumbles under his breath. "Must be a full moon."

The nurse looks directly at Loki and rolls his eyes. "I think we're good here," he tells both guards, and Loki makes a mental - hah, _mental_ \- note to behave better, "if you guys have someplace you need to be."

"You sure," the guard asks. He sounds surprised. Loki makes a face at him. "Don't want that dirty little mouth biting you, now... who knows where it's been?"

The nurse just smiles. "I'm sure."

~

"I'd only bite you if you wanted me to," Loki tells him after the guards leave.

"Thanks," the guy offers as the tech laughs, "but let's do one thing at a time, eh?" He holds up the charcoal and wiggles his eyebrows. He reminds Loki of Thor. "Whaddya say?"

Loki makes another face, at the tech this time, and wriggles in his cuffs and anklets. Shit, he's soggy... and starting to get really cold. Again. "If I drink it, will you let me loose," he slurs. He isn't even close to understanding how he's still getting drunker after all that fucking puking.

"Maybe," the nurse says.

Alrighty, then. Loki heaves a huge half-sigh, half-groan. "Fine. Give it here."

God, the stuff is disgusting. No matter how many times he chokes it down, it never gets any better. "Just chug it," the nurse suggests. "It's not as bad that way."

Loki almost manages to laugh through a mouthful of sticky dirt-flavored grit. He swallows. Ugh. "Like you would know."

The nurse winks at him. _Winks_. "Oh, I've had my days. Unlike you, it seems, I learn. There, two more good swallows and you're done."

It's the truth. Loki finishes the shit off in two big gulps and drops the bottle over the railing to join the rest of the mess on the floor. "Let me loose? Please?" He blinks big, wide eyes and the tech snickers. "I'll be good." He shifts wrong and his stomach rolls. Again. His mouth fills with boozy sludge. Loki tries his damnedest to swallow it back down and can't... he doesn't puke up the whole thing, which is no small victory, but in the end he has to open his mouth and let that first bit dribble down his neck.

"Sorry," he says afterwards, with a little hiccup. "I'm gross."

The nurse smiles again, nicely this time. "Yeah," he agrees, "You are. Tell you what... let's clean you up a little." And then he _undoes the cuffs_ , almost tenderly, first one and then the other. _By all that is holy_.

"I love you," Loki tells him, with real feeling.

"I know you do," the nurse says. "Everyone does."

~

It takes a while, but they - only the two of them, really, because Loki is exhausted and disoriented and sore and it's all he can do to cling to the side rails and roll himself back and forth more or less as directed - get the wet stuff off of (and out from under) him and the worst of the chaos corralled. "Want a blanket," the tech asks as Loki huddles in on himself, shivering.

"Mmm."

~

The blanket is heavenly - clean and dry and _warm_ , straight out of that magical cabinet which turns ordinary hospital bedding into gifts from the gods. Before he knows it Loki is 90% asleep. "Ah-ah," the nurse chides. "None of that. You still have another date with Mister Suction."

Loki suspects he's rather more familiar with _Mister Suction_ \- in every sense - than this guy will ever be. He doesn't say that, though; he just blinks sleepily and smiles.

"Nice teeth," the nurse tells him, smiling in return.

"Raaar," Loki fake-growls, and the three of them laugh. Maybe he's going to get through this after all.

_Thor is going to be soooo pissed, though_. And the thought of that makes him cry.

Yes, oh yes… yet again.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dr. Riley and Loki sort through the rubble.

"I'm sorry," the nurse - Jay, he's asked Loki to call him, now that things have calmed down some and they're going about the slow and boring business of _waiting for Loki to sober up already_ \- says, hurrying for the moving curtain. "We're not cleared for visi- oh, _hi_ , Dr. Riley. You didn't need to come all the way over here," he tells her, cheerfully apologetic, and Loki wonders if the guy ever gets tired. "Dr. Llewyn is on this shift and he's good with this kind of thing."

"I was in the neighborhood," she says, shrugging. Loki doesn't believe her for a second. "Plus," she tells Jay, and Loki _knew_ there was more, "I need to call his partner. Thor is a sharp, insightful man; I figured it would be best to have some firsthand information in my proverbial back pocket."

"And here I thought you missed me," Loki tries to tease from the bed. He doesn't like being ignored, even when he's all fucked up like this. Especially when he's all fucked up like this, maybe. And certainly not for his _sharp, insightful_ brother.

She glares at him like his damp, stinking ass is in big trouble and then softens. "It looks like you've been putting on quite a show," she kids back. "How could I possibly skip it?" She turns to Jay. "Can you give us a couple of minutes?"

The nurse nod-shrugs. "I can't go far," he points out. “Not like you don’t know that. Are you going to be okay alone with Loki here? He's still a wee bit feisty."

She smiles. "I don't think he'll hurt me. And if he's extra-full of surprises, well, I'm fast. And decidedly _not_ shitfaced."

"And a mixed martial artist," Loki announces proudly from the bed.

Dr. Riley grins. _See what I mean_ , her expression says, and Loki can’t decide if he likes it or doesn’t. "That too. Seriously, Jay, I mean it; I'll be fine."

She steps the rest of the way into the cubicle as Jay helpfully (and noisily) pulls the curtains closed from outside. "You look and smell like the bar bathroom floor about 3:00 in the morning," she tells Loki. "On a bad day."

He makes a scrunchy little _sorry_ face. He is sorry. That, and the tape holding the tube to his nose is itchy. "Go ahead, say it," he tells her. " _That was stupid, Loki_. It's not like I don't know."

"I think you're doing just fine reminding _yourself_ already," Dr. Riley points out. She scopes out the end of the bed for a moment and then (wisely) jacks herself up to sit on the counter instead. "I'm more interested in what's going on."

"I played hooky," he says. His nose itches again; he wrinkles and then scratches it, all of which accomplishes nothing. "What?"

Dr. Riley sighs. "I suspect you know full well I meant _before that_ ," she grouses. "Honestly, from that point on," she adds, including the whole room in a broad, theatrical sweep of both arms, "what happened is pretty effing obvious."

"You can say the eff word," he chirps. "I've heard it be-..."

"LOKI." Now she _is_ glaring. She looks annoyed and exhausted and suddenly Loki wonders if _he_ needs Jay in there with them. "Just- don't, okay? It's been a long day."

He looks away, doing his best to ignore the way the tube tugs, and hitches his blanket more tightly around him. "It's embarrassing," he admits, his mental pendulum swung all the way back to _contrite_ now. "I feel like an idiot. A thirsty, crampy, filthy idiot. I've been bored," he mutters when she just sits there in silence. "And lonely. Thor's so busy getting better that he has no time for me." His voice catches; no faking, this time. "And I've been doing well. Everyone says so. So I tried stopping my meds," he confesses at last, before he exhausts even her seemingly boundless patience. "I even tapered," he tacks on, a little too drunk-proudly. "But, yeah. Not so much. Idiot," he says again, stabbing himself hard in the sternum with a grimy index finger.

"Mm," she acknowledges. He still doesn't dare glance back over at her. His hands are so disgustingly grey he looks like some kind of freakish B-movie alien.

"Are you here to commit me," he makes himself check at last. He deserves it, after all. He does have it fucking coming.

"Do you _want_ me to," she asks, rather than answering. No, no he doesn't. "There's no shame,” she offers, “in needing a little downtime."

"No," Loki says very softly. "I want to go home."

He finally sneaks a quick peek at her and doesn't she fucking catch him, even right in the middle of rubbing her temples. "I'm certainly willing to entertain that," she tells him, and his heart sinks. "But I think you'll agree you're not adequately competent off your medication. At least, you would on a better day."

She has him there. "But I'm fun," he tries.

"Oh, I dunno," she says. "I think I like you better sober."

Loki sighs. He’s out of jokes. _I’m here all week. Try the fish_. "So, what are we talking?" He's starting to remember what he hates about drinking; out of nowhere he’s horribly, ridiculously down and his head is really beginning to throb. He's not going to get a goddamned thing for it, either, not even fucking tylenol.

"Dr. Llewyn tells me you seem clean except the alcohol," she says. "Look at me." He does, pouting. She doesn’t trust him. Nobody trusts him. "Is that true?"

He keeps looking at her. Even though he actually isn't lying this time, being stared full-on in the face isn't easy. "Three or four strong drinks in too little time," he numbers off on his thumb and fingers, "plus one, maybe two bottles of charcoal. That's all, I swear."

She studies him intently for several seconds. "My money’s on two bottles," she says at last, nodding towards the wall behind his head.

Loki makes the mistake of letting her trick him into looking and is immediately sorry. He gags a little.

"Sorry," she says, but she's smirking.

"I don't think you _are_ , actually," he complains when he can safely open his mouth again. His eyes and nose water. Well, his _eyes_ water... the crap coming out his nose is more like mud.

Dr. Riley smiles a shade less naughtily. "Oh, I am. A little."

They laugh. It's kind of nice.

It would be a whole lot nicer, though, if the world didn't smell so much like boozy vomit. "I'm sorry," he says again. He carefully refrains from adding _and I don't know why you put up with me_.

"Okay," she says. "I want you back on your stuff first, before we spring you." She digs out her phone and checks it. "Sunday. Maybe Saturday if you're lucky." She smirks again. "How fast does sorbitol usually go through your system?"

Loki frowns. "A whole fucking lot faster than anything should," he complains. He hasn't eaten, as far as he knows, since breakfast; the way things are rumbling and cramping, even considering the charcoal itself he's going to be shitting his sad, aching brains out long before midnight.

Dr. Riley flips through a few things on her phone, back and forth. "Saturday, then. It won't be an easy sell and I'm not making any promises," she emphasizes, looking at him now with her brows pinched together, "but I'll do my best if you will."

_Saturday_. Two fucking nights in this hole. "I will," he promises, nodding. It's not like he has any other choice, really.

"Deal," she says. "You'll understand if I pass on the handshake."

He makes a fake hurt face and then- _oh, shit!_ "Whattimeisit," he squeaks at her. What was meant to be words comes out in a smushed-together rush.

"About 7:00," she says, calm and unruffled and everything he isn't. _Everything_. "I've got it, don't worry. Do you want to see Thor? I know he will insist on coming down."

Loki knows it too. It makes him feel warm. Loved. A little terrified, but loved. "Oh, yes," he breathes. "Please."

"Hang tight, then," she tells him as she hops down from the counter. Her boots splash a little on landing and the two of them both make faces. "Just let me sort things out with Jay, and then I’ll see if I can get your- _partner_ to meet me at the center."

Jay is instantly _right fucking there_ , so Loki carefully doesn’t tell Dr. Riley he loves _her_ too.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thor takes everything surprisingly gracefully.

“Can we get me cleaned up some,” Loki asks Jay once Dr. Riley has taken her leave, after assuring him (again, and again) that she will get ahold of Thor somehow. He knows his brother; there’s no way Thor won’t be showing up here, as soon as humanly possible. “I don’t want my partner to see me this way.”

Jay looks him up and down, slowly, and Loki vows to kill the guy if anything remotely approaching _you look fine_ comes out of that smirking mouth.

“There’s nothing we can do here,” Jay says instead, “not without a shower. Or, even better, a hose and a scrub brush.” He’s still smiling. “But I’ve read your chart and I don’t get the impression this is, if you will, _your first rodeo_.”

No, it isn’t. Loki shrugs. “Maybe not.”

The nurse snorts. “ _Maybe_ … nice try. How long have you and your partner been together?”

Loki thinks about that for a minute. He’s sobering up, sure, but he’s not all the way there yet and he doesn’t want to fuck up royally. _More royally_. Jay seems nice and all but Loki does know he needs to play the whole _brother_ thing very carefully. “Most recently, a few years. We’ve been a thing on and off since college, though,” he adds, because it rounds out his safe-feeling, truthful lie, “and he’s known me- most of my life.” He hitches his blanket up all the way to his chin and eyes the nurse suspiciously. “Why?”

“Well,” Jay says, “I’m thinking he’s seen worse, then.”

That Thor has. “Yeah,” Loki admits. He wants very much – and he has no idea why; maybe he’s not as sober as he thinks, and it’s just the booze talking - to explain that his brother was there when he got his stupid self shot. He doesn’t, because that can’t possibly be as good an idea as it feels like it is just now. Can’t. Possibly. “He’s seen a lot worse,” Loki compromises instead. “He’s seen pretty much everything.”

The nurse nods. “That’s about what I figured.” The expression on Jay’s handsome face is a little odd and Loki wonders for a panicky second if his own inside voice has gone off on its own without his brain’s permission. “And yet he keeps coming back for more of what you’re selling.”

“Ouch,” Loki says.

“I more meant,” Jay clarifies with a little shrug, “that he obviously still likes you anyway. With all that history, I doubt a little dirt is going to put him off.”

“I’m gross, though,” Loki complains. Yes, yes; now he _is_ fishing,

Jay nicely plays along. He’s surprisingly good at reading people. “No, you’re pretty,” he tells Loki, “and a tease.” He laughs. “Although I do suppose you could smell better.”

~

It feels like it’s taking way too long for Thor to arrive. Long enough, in fact, that Loki is really starting to get worried. Jay won’t let him nap, either. He supposes he should be grateful that one of the doctors – not Dr. Llewyn, someone from the medical side of the house – has finally cleared him to drink water.

Ultimately - despite the earlier teasing - Jay fetches a warm, wet washcloth and another scratchy towel. The guy is right, though; Loki can’t see his own face (duh!) but if his hands are any indication it’s hopeless. He’s just pushing the charcoal around and around, rather than making any headway against it.

Loki gives up after a while and drapes both black-stained towels neatly over the sticky bed rail. “What time is it,” he asks for what pretty much has to be one time too many by this point. Whatever happens, he’s never running away without his phone again. “And where the fuck are they?”

Jay looks up from his paperwork and rolls his eyes. “It’s about 8:00,” he says, which is impossible. It simply can’t have been _only an hour_ since Dr. Riley left. “And I’m sure they’ll be here shortly. Really,” he insists when Loki makes a face. “I know it’s not easy, but try and be patient.”

“Ugh,” Loki groans. He fidgets. The bed squeaks. Rinse, repeat. After several minutes of that, Jay sighs. Loudly. Here it comes. But about the time Loki’s sure he’s worn out his welcome and is going to get his head bitten off, a security guard – no one he’s seen before – pokes her head in. “Your patient’s private psych doc is here,” she says, jerking her head in Loki’s general direction, “and his boyfriend. Okay to let them back?”

“Sure,” Jay tells her. “We’ve been waiting for them. Haven’t we, Loki?”

Loki isn’t sure why, really, but instead of answering he starts fucking crying.

~

“Look who I found,” Dr. Riley says as they all squeeze into the cubicle.

“Hi, baby,” Thor ventures, eyes puffy and face blotchy. Evidently more than one of them has been busy wasting time bawling.

He’s an awful, awful person. “I’m so, so sorry,” Loki rasps, searching his brother’s face for any clue as to where things stand and finding nothing useful. “I did something really stupid.”

“What do you mean,” Thor asks. His voice is surprisingly soft amidst the din of the emergency department.

Dr. Riley steps up to the foot of the bed. She gives Loki’s ankle – quite probably the only (relatively) clean thing on him; whenever he shifts, even his balls feel sticky - a squeeze. “Go on,” she directs, and she’s all business now. “Tell him.”

Loki snuffles. Everything smells like dirt. And barf. He uses one dirty hand to wipe his even dirtier nose and then remembers – too late – Jay’d handed him a box of tissues. “I feel like an ass,” he tells her, hoping maybe she’ll do the heavy lifting for him.

_As if._ She shrugs and then waves her hand encouragingly.

Okay,” Loki says. It isn’t, but he does deserve this. He did it to himself, after all. “I stopped taking my medication,” he tells the sliver of empty space between Thor and Jay. “All of it. A few days ago. A week, maybe a little more. I- I guess I wanted to see how I felt without it.” He coughs. Even that tastes like dirt. “I know better,” he admits, “I do. Don’t even start,” he admonishes, chin up and out. If they’re going to fight about this, it’s going to be here and now in front of everyone.

Thor just shakes his head and says nothing.

_Oh._ Weird. Maybe they aren’t going to fight after all.

“So.” Loki goes on, because there’s no gain in stopping when he’s gone this far. It’s not like Dr. Riley doesn’t already know what happened, every last sordid bit of it. Okay, maybe not the sordid bits. “I snuck out of the center and drank a bunch. I have no idea why,” he confesses because it’s true; he doesn’t. “I don’t really even like getting drunk. You know that. And then I _wised up_ , if you want to call it that, and called my coach.”

“And that turned into this how exactly,” his brother asks, spreading his hands. Loki sometimes forgets Thor’s lived most of his life in Happy World, where getting drunk just means worshipping the porcelain god and commiserating with one’s similarly afflicted friends about hangovers.

He needs something in his hands. He’s lost track of his blanket thanks to all that fruitless washing up earlier; Loki grabs at his gown instead. “Every OD is a multi-substance OD until proven otherwise,” he recites, looking at Dr. Riley. “So, I got the whole drill. The activated charcoal. The gastric lavage.” He shrugs and smiles a wan little smile. “I really just had too much to drink, but of course no one believed me. Not that I blame them.”

“Oh, baby,” Thor says. “I’m sorry.” He actually _sounds_ sorry. And looks it.

That’s- it’s not what Loki expected. “What,” he asks his brother flatly, “you’re sorry that I’m dumb?”

“You’re not dumb,” Thor insists. “I’m sorry you were hurting,” he corrects, “and I didn’t even notice.” He twists to look at Dr. Riley; they’re almost comically crammed in here. Drunk tank clown car. “Can I hold him?”

_Please please please_. She nods. “Sure,” she tells Thor, “as long as you don’t mind getting a little messy.”

Thor must not, because he’s instantly at the bedside and pulling Loki against his chest. “Shh,” he soothes, rubbing a big, warm hand up and down Loki’s sticky back. “When can you go home?”

Loki pulls in a big breath, feeling his ribs press against Thor’s strong arm, and sighs. “Not tonight,” he complains. “And maybe not tomorrow.” His brother is already starting to squawk; he doesn’t bother adding that – at best – it’s going to be the day after that. _At best_. “Not until they make sure my medication is all back where it should be,” he goes on explaining over Thor’s protests, “and I’m _not a threat to myself and others._ And I can’t even start taking any of it until all this shit is out of my system. I’m so, so sorry,” he repeats as he feels his brother’s hot tears dripping onto his own dirty shoulder.

Thor squeezes him, almost too tightly. It feels nice. “It’s okay,” his brother offers. “We’ll figure it out. Make sure,” he tells- Jay? Dr. Riley, maybe, “they know I’m staying.”

_Oh._ Now _that’s_ unexpected. It probably shouldn’t be.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Dr. Riley says, about the time Loki’s expecting her to say _hell no_. “Be good,” she tells him, giving his ankle another little squish.

Loki nods against Thor’s warm, dry front. “I know it may not look it,” he says, “but I’m trying.”

“Actually,” Jay cuts in, “it does look it. We all know you are.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even at home there's always something to do. Or, Loki and Thor get reacquainted.

"No," Loki announces decisively when his brother asks is he wants to watch a movie. "That's boring." It _is_. He's been cooped up for days, and out-of-sorts for longer; if it's boring he wanted, he'd have arranged to stay at the hospital. He's clean (in every sense), he's rested. He's _bored_. "I want to _do_ something."

"I know, I know," Thor says. He actually sounds sorry, even now that Loki's been home half a day, which is- surprising. "I'm sick of sitting around too. But I bet Dr. Riley would think we should stay in." He shrugs. "If you really don't agree..."

Loki _does_ agree, actually. He's back on his meds but nowhere near back to level, and his guts still hate him. The two of them should stay home. In fact, if doing so had only been his idea, he'd be wanting to. But it’s not his idea. So he isn’t.

"There must be something - however dull - you're willing to do here," Thor continues. "Something that would make it _bearable_ staying in this evening."

Loki wrinkles his nose. "Staying in doesn't have to be synonymous with boring, you know," he reminds his brother. "It just takes a little imagination." He licks his lips and stretches, long and leisurely. Catlike, except for how cats don’t wear shirts or show off their stomachs. "I know _I_ can think of something."

"Sure," Thor says, visibly brightening. "I'm up for anything."

_Famous last words._ Loki grins. "Excellent. Then you can tie me up," he suggests, "and give me a good face-fucking."

"That is _not_ what I meant," Thor huffs. His own face is bright red but, when Loki leans over and nuzzles into his crotch, sure enough; his dick is already responding.

"Maybe not," Loki agrees, face still pressed against his brother's groin, "but I suspect I can bring you around to my way of thinking."

Thor shifts awkwardly. "That's cheating," he squawks as Loki mouths at his balls through the thin fabric of his pants.

"Hardly." Loki sits back up, warm and laughing. "How can it be cheating when we both win?"

They look at each other for half a minute, maybe more. "Fine," Thor finally grumbles, like he's making some huge concession. "But first we lock the cats in the bathroom ."

Loki pops up, doing his best to ignore the dizzying head-rush, and scoops Marci into the crook of one elbow. "Sure," he agrees as his brother grabs for Mac and misses. "But then I get to pick the hardware."

~

He roots around as noisily as he can (and for much, much longer than strictly necessary).

It’s just for effect.

Before he'd left the living room Loki had already settled on what he wanted: a few heavy lengths of thick chain - the deliciously clanky kind - and the padded cuff set. Metal cuffs would actually be nicer, but with his wrists already chewed half to shit from Thursday afternoon's guard-wrestling session his metal cuffs would draw blood.

And blood is probably one of those things Thor considers firmly off-limits this evening.

Most evenings.

Loki grabs a set of cuffs with strong, secure buckles; they’re not what he wants, not exactly, but they'll keep his hands down. That will simply have to be _good enough_. "Coming," he yells as he shoves the box back underneath the bed.

~

"Fuck," Thor breathes as Loki hurries back into the kitchen, stark naked and well on his way to his own hard-on. He's got the (heavy) chains (clanking, and it's music to his bored little ears) in one hand and the cuffs in the other.

"Wrists and ankles, and then clip everything together," Loki directs his brother. He doesn't even have to work at making sure his voice is husky. "You wouldn't want me getting away, now, would you?"

"Uh." Thor says, wiping his own mouth with his fingers. "Uh, no. That I wouldn’t."

Loki drops to his knees, a little more carefully than usual. The chains hit the tile and he shivers. "Right here, brother," he whispers. "Go ahead. Tie me up, and then _give it to me like you mean it_."

~

Thor is all thumbs. Normally that would annoy the living fuck out of Loki, but tonight it’s actually kind of funny. That, and he’s enjoying- being taken care of. He’s been listened to; he’s getting what he asked for. And if he’s getting it a little more slowly than he likes, well, that’s just all the more time he gets to enjoy the clank of the chains and the tug of his bindings.

It’s fine. It’s _really_ fine, this time.

~

At last they face off, Loki with his shoulders stretched almost to the point of pain and Thor- and, well Thor’s hard, straining dick, because that’s what’s actually at eye level. Face level. Loki leans in as much as he can without risking falling, which isn’t very far, and mouths hot and wet against his brother’s clothing. “I don’t have the use of my hands right now,” he reminds Thor, laughing a little when his brother moans.

“So,” Thor rumbles, “use your mouth.”

~

Loki hasn’t done anything like _this_ in a while. Getting his brother’s soft, stretchy pants down with just his own teeth proves quite the challenge, especially with Thor wiggling and bucking at every opportunity. By the time everything is clear of his brother’s calves and pooled around Thor’s ankles, Loki is sweating and more than a little winded.

That, and his throat is still roughed up from Thursday’s _fun and games_.

All of which just makes the end result all the sweeter.

~

The angle is beyond awkward and Loki finds himself struggling to relax; the first few times Thor bumps the back of his throat, even without much real force, he gags and sputters like an amateur.

“Do we need to stop,” Thor asks. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Loki coughs. “No. You’re not,” he assures his brother. “I’m just being stupid.” _Ignore it_ , he doesn’t bother adding, because Thor… would never. That’s one of the things he both loves and hates most about his brother.

~

The next time he gags, Thor _stops_. Completely. It’s maddening. So, Loki bites him. Yes, right where it matters.

After a brief scuffle they sort things out. Everything works. Somehow.

~

Thor gives him a few slower, gentle thrusts, the kind where Loki can actually catch his breath briefly in between.

And then his brother gets a good, solid grip on his face and really, really _fucks_ him; Thor pounds into Loki until he’s seeing stars and everything had gone dark around the edges of his vision.

Until Loki’s thinking he may actually die this time.

It’s a hell of a way to go.

~

By the time his brother finally comes Loki is hazy and drugged-feeling. He collapses against the counter, struggling (and failing) to get his own body back under control.

Thor wipes Loki’s face with something soft. "Do you want me to let you loose," he asks.

It’s not a bad idea; his hands are asleep. Loki clears his throat. "I'm fine," he rasps. "And, yes, if you don't mind."

~

His brother unhooks the chains and gently helps him settle into a more comfortable, natural position. Thor even rubs his shoulders, arms, and fingers carefully, without being reminded.

And then his brother cradles him between shaking knees, one slicked hand fisting his neglected dick and the other cupping his balls, and jacks Loki lovingly off until he’s writhing and twitching and splurting all over Thor’s warm fingers.

_This_ , he thinks, _might actually be heaven_.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All's well that ends well? At least for a morning?

Loki pulls his shirt over his head and lets it slip down, enjoying the way the soft fabric feels against his skin. It's surprisingly nice to be clean again – it’s almost like that first hot shower after the flu, when the impossible dream of standing unaided finally once again becomes reality - and before they'd finally slept last night Thor had nicely rubbed him down (everywhere, really) with oil. So not only is Loki perfectly clean; he's smooth and not the least bit itchy.

He clears his throat, which is still a little sore and a lot scratchy, to be sure he’s actually holding his brother's attention. "Can you hand me your dark grey sweater," he asks as the shirt catches on his hair. Only the very top of his head pokes up through the neck hole.

When he stretches out a hand, blindly expectant, everything goes exactly as requested. "What's wrong with all _your_ sweaters," Thor asks a little testily, draping the sweater over Loki’s arm.

_Why, nothing, brother._ “Wrong,” Loki asks as he pulls his shirt the rest of the way down. It’s nice to be able to see again. He smiles, not particularly innocently. "I don't like to get my sweaters wet. Plus," he goes on before his brother can begin giving voice to the obvious objection(s), "I like the way yours smell. Mmm." Loki snuggles into the thick wool - which does smell oh-so-beautifully of _Thor_ , in the best sweaty, musky sense imaginable - and sniffs loudly. "Mmmm,” he hums, because it's delicious (and because he can tell without even looking that he has his brother wrapped right around his own pretty little finger). “Just like you."

“Stop,” Thor protests, low and raw. And then, without any warning, he's _right there_. One hand digs Loki's chin up out of the sweater; the other grabs a solid fistful of hair. He jacks Loki's head back (and _ohhh_ , maybe things are kind of sore after all) and forces his hot tongue into Loki’s mouth.

Not that Loki puts up much of a battle.

Thor smells even better in person. His mouth tastes of coffee, with lingering traces of toothpaste; his rugged hands yank at Loki’s tangled hair.

Loki kisses back in kind, his eyes squeezed shut and his fingers all over his brother's face. The sweater is pressed three-quarters-forgotten between their chests.

_Fuuuuuuuuuck_ , Loki thinks. Or something like that. Whatever. He could do this all day.

He could do it for a lifetime.

Except for how his jaw aches and he's all too quickly out of air. He breaks away, laughing and gasping and still dropping quick, wet kisses on his brother’s open mouth. “At this rate," he pants, and he is _so_ not kidding, "we’ll never get out of the apartment.”

Thor nips Loki’s lip hard and then pushes back, groaning. “Sweater,” he orders, shrugging it off of one arm and back onto Loki's. “Sledding. Brunch. We can fuck later,” he hurries to clarify in the face of one of Loki's best dramatic pouts. “I promise.” He hugs Loki close, sweater and all. “Let’s go," he says briskly. " _You_ may not be, but I’m starving.”

~

As they get closer to the park, the air is crisp and sharp. Here and there, it carries a hint of wood smoke. Everything sparkles, from the snow to the ice to the polished hardware on the sled Thor'd borrowed from Steve on their way out of the building. They'd invited Sif and Steve to join them, of course – there’s selfish and then there’s plain old fucking rude - but Loki… well, he would be lying if he claimed to be sorry about Steve's polite refusal.

Doing this together, just the two of them, when he _knows_ his brother hates winter with a fiery passion... it's just what he needs. To be the center of things, for a morning.

~

It's windy enough to toss Loki's scarf around, and to whip the ends of his hair into his mouth, but he's toasty and pleased with himself as he scuffs along in his snow boots and his brother's lovely sweater.

He's even happier wrapped in his brother's embrace, perched between Thor's spread thighs as they shoot down the hillside and glide along the long flat stretch which borders the pond.

And if he's happier still riding along behind, both of them shrieking as his brother's broad shoulders block the wind, and then laughing his head off when he (ooooops!) drops a heel and puts them face-first into a snowdrift, well, who wouldn't be?

When Thor teases him about not being wet enough, as he stands there (still laughing, and) wiping the snow from his face, Loki flops gracelessly onto his back and makes himself a big, thorough, ( _rubbed and wriggled and ground in, to make as deep an impression as possible_ ) snow angel.

“You little fucker,” Thor growls, chasing him as he hops up and zigs and zags and whips around to throw snow. “That sweater may _never_ be dry again.”

Loki throws his head back and _howls_. “Wool, brother,” he tells Thor, still backpedaling. “It’s known for its singular ability to insulate while wet.”

“Kind of like polyester fleece,” his brother grumbles, “which is what you’re going to be wearing next time.”

“Nooooo,” Loki wails, dodging out of Thor’s reach and darting a few yards away again. Okay, yes, he’s a little cold. Still, so worth it. He sniffs the snow-encrusted neckline of his brother’s sweater. “Mmm. Whatever. It still smells like you.”

~

“This place looks _so good_ ,” he tells Thor excitedly as the two of them shake in the vestibule like wet dogs. “I’m glad we waited.”

“Feeling better?” His brother’s forehead crinkles. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to eat, not if it’s going to make you sick.”

Loki prods his own abdomen experimentally. It doesn’t gurgle. Finally. “No, I’m hungry,” he assures Thor. He is. He’s fucking starving, what with all the running around in the cold. “I just didn’t want to be out running around quite that far from a bathroom. I’ll pace myself,” he insists as his brother eyes him skeptically. “And if I have to lie down when I get home, I will. To _rest_. Please?” He can’t walk away from this amazing menu. “I’ll be fine,” he promises. “Let’s sit down.”

Thor gets a table. Loki goes into the bathroom and dries off as best he can, between the paper towels and the gale force hand drier. His hair is a ridiculous curly mess; in the end he gives up and tugs his hat back on.

The food, on the other hand, is just as good as it sounds. Better, maybe. Loki purrs as his brother carefully feeds him crepes crammed full of sweet-savory apples and caramelized onions; Thor tears into the eggs benedict, with its tender yolks and smoky ham, like neither of them has eaten in days.

They finish up with chocolate chip pancakes, each forkful heavy and sweet and almost too rich to swallow.

Loki may burst.

He doesn’t care.

“Thank you,” he tells his brother with a quick half-smile. “This was really nice. All of it.”

Thor smiles back. “We needed a break. Now let’s get you home and warmed up.”

“Mmm,” Loki hums. He lays his cool, pale fingers over top of his brother’s warm, ruddy ones. “Oddly enough, I like the sound of that.”

“Oh,” Thor agrees, “I bet you do.”


End file.
